Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Friday, February 17, 2006

My Life Part I

Sorry to stop the freaky Friday, but I have a post that I was working on and it got too long so I decided to post it in parts. It kinda shows where i am coming from. Once again Freaky Friday will be avaiable next week!

I spent the better part of 4 years trying to recover from one mistake I made. A simple mistake that I was forewarned about, but a mistake I made nonetheless. Nineteen is a hard age to decide to begin adult life. Meaning most people start adult life after college, after they start their first career, some even wait until they get married to officially begin living as an adult and throwing away childish things. I was not offered those opportunities.

Now before I start the pity party let me put things in the proper perspective. If you ever read my blog in the past you might have heard about my harrowing decent out of my child hood. I ran into women problems at an early age and older women do so much more than just give you worms. They can give you joy, pride, confidence, and arrogance if you lucky. The bitter side to that coin is that can also leave you with woe, humility, insecurity, and a broken spirit.

The head was up on this particular set of femininity. And I swaggered and boasted like any 18-year-old laying serious issue on a 29 year old stallion. Not only did my shyte not stank but it was so clean that I didn’t see the need to wipe my ass. And this arrogance showed.

I finished highschool with offers and scholarships to go to 5 schools, Hampton, Xavier, LSU, Southern, and USL. At the time my father was heavily involved with Southern so I whittled that choice out the bunch. Hampton was rather expensive even with my academic scholarship, and I was heavily of the mindset that I didn’t want to my daddy to pay shyte for me to go to school. Xavier was more practical but it still required money from my father so it was a no go. The choice fell between USL and LSU. The choice really came down to this old woman giving me pussy every day in Baton Rouge or starting over from scratch. I chose puzzy and said fuck you to scratch.

The dye were cast and I started my collegiate journey. My weeks started simply Monday night and Tuesday I spent at my parent’s house. Tuesday night through Sunday I ran dem city streets.

I ran them hard too. I spent many nights with friends or with “the older woman”. Life was fun. School suffered! Work suffered! My family suffered!

Yes, I had a job at the time. I have been on the grind sense I was 14 years old. I have been making money in some shape of fashion since I was a niglet.

Finally that shyte drew a head, and that head had the shape of my father.

One night as I was leaving my parents house with my change of clothes and a toothbrush, my father confronted me.

“Say Son, where are you going, or better yet, when are you coming back” his eyes pleaded for a confrontation that I was happy to give him. As sorted as our history was I still loved to receive the punishment he dished out.

“I told Mom that I was leaving!” I replied smugly, not answering a question directly was the easiest way to stoke the fire.

“That wasn’t what I asked you son. Look, you leave here all times of the day, you don’t respect this house, hell you don’t even call your Mom, and you know she worries about you. IF you don’t want to tell me where you are going, then just tell me when you coming back”

My reply was sift, eloquent and so apropos, that it fell softly and gently from my lips,” I will be back when I get here”

The rapid succession of punches could only be described as a flurry. The Black gods of ass whipping granted speed and strength to my pops for the singular purpose of beating my ass. I was pinned to the door, heart racing unable to breathe. I starred down out this man whom I had misjudged for sometime now and feared for my life.

All I could stammer between winded breaths and bruised ribs “Are You done!”

From the hall I hear my mother scream as she raced to protect her oldest son, she grabbed my fathers arm that was in the process of delivering a knockout blow.
My father dropped me from my perch on the door, and with a bellow of rage, exhaustion, and despair, “Get out, get your shyte and get out!”

With that I was a full-fledged adult. From that day to this I have never spent more than one night at my parents house. And that begins my real life. A say real because before that point every thing I did had the co-signature of my Mom or my Pop. My behavior had little reflection on me, they always had my back. But being kicked out, all-be-it deservedly, I was forced to fend for myself, and rely on myself. Oh, the subtle winds of change often blow cold and against you. This is also called learning the hard way.

Comming Soon....PART II


  • At 6:52 PM, Blogger African girl, American world said…

    what kind of balls did you think you had to be talking to your Pops like that? damn!

    my hubby tells a story when he got too cocky for his Pops and didn't call and came home late. He says Pops was on him with a knife to his throat in 2 seconds flat. Hubby is 6 3 and 300 lbs (offensive lineman) and Pops is like 5 8 and 190!! That set hubby straight!!!!

    Looking forward to Part II

  • At 7:33 PM, Blogger Serenity23 said…

    I'm dying laughing at you getting "them blows" by the old man.:) Sorry I haven't been around, but you know the story. Anyway, hopefully I'll be back on the regular.

  • At 12:26 PM, Blogger That Girl Tam said…

    Dang..."get your shit and get out..." I think those were my stepdad's last words to was it, "Oh since you're leaving...I'll take my keys back - you won't be needing them."

  • At 1:02 PM, Blogger Serial_Dater said…

    Cool shit. That was just like the animal kingdom. The young buck coming into his own challenges the older dominant male...and sadly loses. Unfortunately as a man myself we sometimes have to go through this ritual of life. I went through it with my mom, who is an amatuer body builder. That woman can punch. ;o)


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